The Good Girl
by Mourning Ophelia
Summary: All the good girls suffer quietly.


The Good Girl  
  
By: Mourning Ophelia  
  
Email: lilobeans@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: GW is © its creators, ect.  
  
Warning! The character seems COMPLETELY OOC, but that's my intention. :p  
  
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All the good girls suffer quietly.  
  
They know when to speak, and when to look beautiful. They can smile knowing that the world is directly below them, and they're at the very peak. They're queens of beauty, grace, and of course- the social scenes.  
  
But that was never me. I was different.  
  
Always, there was something holding me back; a long forgotten memory, a death, a responsibility. and even when preventing death had become my responsibility, I couldn't handle it. I'm weak. I'm so weak.  
  
It's easy to put up a strong front when others need you, but there's no way into tricking yourself into believing you are this mask. The one day you wear it, is the day that everyone happens to see it, because irony seems to rule your life in a sick, twisted manner. The days I would stand up to Romefeller, I mean, that wasn't me up there. That was Her, and that was who the people had come to treasure and adore. She was placed on a platform above everyone and worshipped as a goddess of peace.  
  
That was never me. It was the person everyone had come to expect.  
  
I didn't talk a lot when I was younger; there wasn't a need for me to do so. My "father" wasn't always there, and home life was never what it appeared to be. Just because you seen an image in your dreams, it doesn't make it real. Just because you want something, it doesn't mean you'll get it.  
  
"Mother" had a violent temper, and I was always there to receive the blunt of it. I know she cared for me, that she loved me. but someone had hurt her too, and this was the only way she knew how to correct me. I was a bad child. I had my hair pulled, I was smacked, and she almost pushed me down the stairs when I went to ask for another glass of water after spilling mine on the rug. She taught me to never speak of these events, because all the good girls suffered in silence, and all the bad girls had their dolls torn apart and thrown at them. After my "father's" death, I had begged her to just be my mother, a plea to at least pretend that she loved me in some way. Now that he was gone, however, she wasn't obligated to perform. She never contacted me until after I had made a name for myself, and that was just to flash me around in front of her friends to prove what a grand mother she had been. To show them that hate, torture, and good old fashioned abuse was the only way to raise a child.  
  
I think thirteen was the hardest year for me, because that's when all of the insecurities came. This was the year that I lost, because I was too selfish to get beyond my personal demons and become strong. Do you know what I'm talking about? Maybe you do. It's that feeling where you know you're alone, but you try to hide it because you're so ashamed. And hurts so badly because there's no one to confess to, but in the end you come to realize that no one cares.and you're by yourself again. When you can't seem to distinguish yourself from the shadows on the wall, and the sweet melody of jewelry boxes grate on your ears because it's too beautiful to be in the world you live in. It hurts, it hurts, and it hurts, but you can't run and you can't hide because there's no way to out run yourself. You're you, but you hate you, and it feels like everyone does too it.  
  
I think that's why he could never bring himself to love me like I had loved him. He had provided me with an escape from my own world, but it only brought me into a crueler one. Having him leave time after time and then tracking him down. it became a game to me. A little game I liked to play because it hurt, and pain was the only thing I had come to know. But eventually, I gave up on him. After all, the only thing that kept me alive for so long, was the fact that he had come to obsess over Her and bringing her ideals into reality. Me? I was the weak link that he knew existed, and wanted to destroy. I wasn't perfect like Her.  
  
As the newly crowned Queen delivered her speech to the delegates of Romefeller, I could feel his piercing blue eyes burn into my skin, the gun had its own presence as well. The Queen took a pause from her oration, and I took over. I gazed up at him, and I gave him my consent- begging him to just stop the madness. To stop the game that had worn itself out in the worst possible fashion. But the applause that rang through the hall that day must have caused him to change his mind. I was so frustrated because She had won again, and the foreign words that had flowed out from my mouth hadn't really been what I wanted to say. But then again, that was my life.  
  
That feeling comes again when the words come out wrong and you're misunderstood, because no one took the chance to listen to the meaning beyond the meaning. After everyone clears the building it's hard not to feel insecure. I mean, it gets to a point where you feel as though you're by yourself in a room with a floor of thorns and in all directions there is only pain. You can't step forward, and you can't fall back because the hurt is always there, in every petal. Every memory comes back to haunt you, and the mistakes of your past rule your choices and clench your heart. But you can only cry by yourself, alone, because no one would understand what you're going through, because no one understands how lonely and scared you really are.  
  
I was never a stupid girl, though people had the tendency to treat me in such a manner. Treize Khushrenada and Milliardo Peacecraft had some unspoken state of understanding, in which they were both planning my future, without explaining anything to me. Did they think I already knew? Or maybe that the truth was to harsh for me? Oh, the irony.  
  
They were never the little girl cutting her hands as she tried to pick up the pieces of her broken china doll on the floor, because she had questioned her mother's motives. So maybe that's why I remained silent and gave up in the pursuit of trying to figure out what Milliardo was trying to accomplish by stabbing Her beliefs in the back and stomping on Her heart. There's only so much blood a person can bleed, and only so many times they can make the same mistake.  
  
Even if they had been trying to shield me, it was undeniably unfair for both to leave me trapped in a position that suffocated me. One was set free, only to die the symbolic death he had always craved for- the other leaving me at the rear, because I apparently no longer served him a purpose. This. this reckless abandonment had only furthered my theory that the only reason he had looked out for me was not because he loved me, but because it provided a ruler for his kingdom. His obsession with its restoration, and being force fed the images of it being given away by his own sister must have nearly driven him insane. At the time, She could only feel remorse over its second tragic downfall, but secretly, I was glad that he was being punished for using me in such a way. Looking back on it now, I no longer feel justified. There's just a swell of jealousy he had had something to live and die for.  
  
Right after the war was the most traumatic era of my life. Now that peace had been established, I had assumed that She was no longer needed, and I could go back to hiding in my shell on some remote beach on some unnamed island. But the insecurities and feelings of uselessness came back as everyone left me to the wolves yet again. So I couldn't go forward, and I couldn't go back and it felt like the only place I could have ended it was the present. And it was that feeling again, telling me to pick up that knife and stop the stinging tears, but God, I was too scared to even do that. Then all the questions came, and I wondered why I was the only one damned to feel like that way.  
  
How cruel God must be to make you suffer silently.  
  
Mutely, in the sense that you know you need help, but you can't ask for it. Because in spite of everything I truly was, She was perfection and strength. How could a Queen ever be driven insane by herself?  
  
Then the Marquise Wayridge had offered me my "father's" position. I didn't want it; I wanted to be left alone. But wouldn't you know it; She smiled and accepted the offer graciously.  
  
That's when the pain left and I was left with nothing but numb. The same routine, the same problems, and the same faces everyday became a vicious cycle. The need to find another boy washed up on the ocean's shore was as overwhelming as the paperwork that piled up on top of my desk on a daily basis. These lingering feelings of betrayed the monotony of the work place and let me be myself.  
  
Then Mariemaia came, and suddenly She was back. I can't even begin to explain what that time was like. I was fighting with her, and She was fighting with her beliefs and confusion rang clear through as I passed through another stage of being used. Maybe I finally cracked Her, when her head filled with the thought that the ridiculous notion of absolute pacifism was nothing more than that- a notion built on the dreams of Utopia with not only the world, but with oneself. The freedom of no longer being hypocritical was a blessing, and I didn't feel sorry when everyone left me again. By that time, She was enough company as it was.  
  
I hadn't seen Him again until today. Four years, two months, three days, but it wasn't as though I was keeping track anymore. He had changed, his eyes didn't look as stern and he was taller and more attractive. His presence was lighter too, there wasn't a dark cloud following him. All through the war, I had thought him and me to be alike, whereas in reality, we were stark opposites. He had broken through the race beaming, and I remained buried in the dust.  
  
For a moment, I think I caught him smiling.  
  
She had told him how nice it was to see he was doing well and all the other pleasantries that had been perfected with age, but he seemed to wait until She was finished before actually speaking himself.  
  
"You've changed."  
  
I almost broke down into tears then, I was so desperate to show him that I hadn't. That he, like everyone else, had fallen under Her spell. The pain was back, and She shattered, falling away, leaving me to fend for myself. Just like everyone else.  
  
For a moment, I think I heard my heart finally break.  
  
I couldn't reply as I felt my pathetic nature dripping back into my veins. The past few weeks I had intentionally locked myself away in my room, trying to hide from what I knew was coming. I think hundreds had come to my door in that time period, but all the king's horses, and all the king's men could never have put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Some threatened to knock down my door, and others warning that this was making me appear unfit for leading world peace. But when had I offered? When had I asked to throw my life away on something I didn't necessarily believe in?  
  
And suddenly, I knew the reason he had come.  
  
You think you're playing the game when it's actually playing you. That someone above must really enjoy the torture you're going through, because it hasn't stopped and you haven't seen the light. The spilled water on the rug could never amount to the tears that you'd shed in private, ashamed of everything you felt.  
  
A flash of silver caught my eye, and I saw his broke promise in its reflection. Now that I had killed Her, he lay my sentence out before me without so much as even a word.  
  
And sometimes you have to wonder why no one could love you, but you know the reason. You are not that little girl anymore. You're experienced now, and you've seen the world through an old man's eyes, and you're tired. So tired.  
  
He raised his weapon.  
  
I smiled and closed my eyes.  
  
And it's that feeling again, reminding you that all good girls go to heaven.  
  
++++++++  
  
There's a story behind this story. Part of it is an actual essay that I wrote trying to describe depression. I don't mean to imply in anyway that Relena has a borderline personality or anything, but there's always the lingering chance she has problems like the rest of us. I'm sorry if the fic was confusing. @_@ And if you didn't understand, let me try to explain. All the times Relena was referring to "Her" or "She," she's talking about the mask she wore when in public to hide was she was truly feeling. And eventually people had come to expect that mask instead of who she truly was, so it became almost like a split personality for her. In my story, the reason Relena gave up on Heero was because he had fallen for the mask, but had never truly seen her as herself. Once Relena finally cracked through the mask at the end, everyone had thought she had gone insane, and Heero no longer could find the person he had sworn to protect, and had to destroy the obstruction to Her peace. So yeah.  
  
3 Ophelia, 2002 


End file.
